


It doesn't matter.

by myrhymesarepurer



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 17:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9617009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrhymesarepurer/pseuds/myrhymesarepurer
Summary: FMAB, Post-Promised Day / They had not spoken. Three days, four days, give or take or give. They had not spoken, for this, they knew this would be the result. He smelled the iron, felt the blood under his toes. /"I would have done it.""It doesn't matter." / Royai





	

**Author's Note:**

> this one’s called, “how much can a overwrite and be vague simultaneously”? I never bought any of the post-promised day hospital shots I’ve read. I think they were there for a long time. And, I think it was complicated. And, I’m definitely avoiding my smut with pure and utter angst. Oh, my poor babies. Enjoy.

Contrary to what one might anticipate,   
it was not a joyous reunion.

He requested that she stay with him   
in the same room,   
their beds separated   
by only three feet of a nightstand.

He couldn’t see.  
He needed an aid, he said.

She was his aid.   
His vice.

Always had been.

The doctors agreed.   
It was the best option.

Mustang had lost his sight, but he also had through and through   
stab wounds on both hands prone to severe infection,  
as well as a concussion

just to add a cherry on top.

Hawkeye still lacked a major volume of her blood  
and had a freshly stitched slit across her carotid.   
  
Yes, supervision was ideal,   
a bunk buddy was ideal,

and it seemed wrong to separate them   
 _after everything_. But, the reunion was-

They had not spoken.

Three or four, give or take or give,  
so many days since admission.

They alternated pretending to sleep   
while the other was awake, had visitors, ate meals.

They both could admit  
it had become quite extreme.

The men didn’t comment. Perhaps it was the trauma.  
The Colonel and his Lieutenant. They ignored each other.

Their reunion after everything,   
 _all of it_ , the post-mortem was

silence.

Roy was blind, but he could still see   
red gushing, spreading, coating the tile,   
endless.

He could smell iron in the air,   
invisible, inextinguishable blood.

His breathing was deep,   
fighting off shock.   
breath in and breath out.

Day one, two, three, four   
give or take or give.

He stared at the ceiling,

Riza saw the same,   
felt the same,   
the cold and the slice

over and over, but  _she_ could open her eyes,   
stare at the IV bag, outline her bandage,   
ground herself. 

It was over.   
They did not speak.  

She winked an eye open often, having the luxury   
of checking on Roy without getting caught.

He was not sleeping.   
Neither was she.

They both asked for stronger sedatives.   
It did not work. They did not sleep.   
They did not speak.

Their reunion was not joyous.   
It was painful, callous,   
cold.  

Alas, the fallout was inevitable.   
She wished they had separate rooms.

He stumbled blindly to the bathroom,   
four in the morning. She wasn’t asleep.

They did not speak until she  
involuntarily, accidentally,   
regretfully   
said,

“Bedpost.”

He flinched in her direction,   
blinked at her bed, “Huh?”

“You’re about to run into it, Sir.”

“Oh.”   
“Inch to the left. Then forward.”   
“Right.”

She wished they had separate rooms.   
He wished she hadn’t said anything.

The chain reaction was imminent.  
The inevitable was unavoidable.

They were foolish,  _stupid_  
 to think otherwise.

“I would have done it.”

He did not move.  
Not an inch to the left.   
Not forward.

He just stared at the floor,   
held onto her bedpost.  

Riza sat up, sighed.

She didn’t want to talk.   
Roy wanted to go back to bed.  

The Lieutenant said “Bedpost,”   
and it was all over. Damn it.

“I would have done it.”   
“No.” She said, solidly.

She knew what he meant, what he saw   
in his mind’s eye while he grit his teeth,   
and clinched his jaw.

“I was going to do it. I would have done it.”   
“You would not have.” The Lieutenant told her Colonel.

She had orders. She was not to die.  
She was to watch his back, and stop him,   
 _shoot_  him, if he even dared to give in to that kind of evil.

But, to be honest, her position in that moment,   
cold on the floor, she had no power,   
no  _blood,_  no _pistol,_    
no physical capability to hold him back.  

He knew.    
He was so close  
before she gave her signal.  
  
Too close. 

“Yes,” his voice a caustic whisper, crushing the bedpost   
under his hand. “I was going to. I planned to.”

“I was going to  _save you_ ,”

He knew very well he could’ve committed the crime,   
the ultimate sin, the irreparable,   
abhorrent, deplorable act,

 _human transmutation,_  
He would have done it.

Then and there, he felt,   
no, he  _knew_  he would have buckled   
under the weight of air full of red iron.

“I did not care about the rest. They could all burn.   
I did not care, I was going to do it.”

Roy twisted the knob, the wooden top of that bedpost.   
He clenched it until his knuckles were white.   
His face flushed into a red hot,   
burning, hatred.

For himself. How could he consider such a thing?  
Then again. How could he not?

His mind waged war on itself. 

what kind of man would-  
well, perhaps a man that-

He felt the bedpost might splinter.   
 _I was going to do it._

“No.”   
“Riza.”   
“Colonel,”

She demanded.   
She was in front of him.   
He could feel her in front of him.

He pulled at his hair, buried his hands,   
wanting to snatch it all. He wanted the pain,   
the punishment.

“Do you  _understand_  what I’m telling you.”   
“I understand, Sir.”  
 __  
Your precious woman is dying, Mustang.  
Roy huffed, he couldn’t breathe. 

_What will it be?_

“ _You don’t._  I would have done it.  
 I would have done it because I -“

“Stop.”  

Riza raised her hand, raised her voice,  
sliced through his words,   
shot him down,   
cut him at the knees.

Insubordination be damned.

This was not about pecking order.  
This was not about the Colonel and his Lieutenant.

This wasn’t about anything.   
There was no story here.

It did not matter.

“I understand what you are telling me. I am not a fool.”   
  
Riza snapped, rushed, spitting out so many more words   
at once than she ever had before. ”If we were  _simple._  
If we were  _whole,”_ She shook her head clear. 

“No,” She said, “You would  _not_  have done it.   
We are not whole. We are not simple.   
  
So, it doesn’t matter.”

She had rushed. She had struggled.  
But, just as quickly

she solidified.

They had not spoken. Three days,   
four days, give or take or give.

They had not spoken, for this, they knew  
would be the result,   
precisely  _this._

Roy would say something like  _this_ ,   
admit feeling like  _this_  about all of it,  
about _her,_  
  
and then where would they be?

Better than where they were, Roy felt,   
he thought for three or four,   
so many days straight.

But, Riza, for one, could not trust herself   
 _not_  to crumble,  _not_  to admit the same.  
   
“For us, Sir, It’s irrelevant,” so she said.

“ _Excuse me_?” Roy protested.   
“You would not have done  You know this.”

She stepped away, turned,   
half way to her bed.

Even blind, he caught her arm.   
“You don’t get off that easily.”

Roy Mustang was the only one   
ever willing to fight Riza Hawkeye.

She was three feet away three, four,   
however many days straight,   
radio silence.

He needed contact,   
He needed proximity.

He needed her, and he needed  
her to understand.

“ _It’s over._ ”

He was blind. Their goals were gone,   
He would have done it for her.

It was over now,   
all that they had worked for.

You would expect him to be defeated.   
Instead, in the dark, he was relieved. 

He would have done it for her.  
In the dark, now,  _he could say why._

but Riza bit her lip.   
She bit it all back,

“No. This is a waste of time.”

It was  _not_  over. He was dead wrong.  
They needed to stop talking.

But, he still held her wrist, tugged her back to him.   
Riza. Riza broke, “It does not matter.”

He scoffed, “Others would argue the  _exact opposite_ -“  
  
“ _You did not perform the transmutation_ ,” She put her foot down,   
“You did not do it for the very same reason I asked you not to,”

 _Colonel, Please,_ she whimpered then, dying.  
 _Do not sacrifice everything. For my sake.  
_  
Riza pulled her arm free and started to  _plead._    
“We chose. Because, you and me- 

It does not matter.  ”

Roy’s jaw hung useless, he heard her voice grow   
tight. He heard her break. It was the closest   
she had been to crying, sobbing   
since Lust.

Since she just knew he was gone, and every piece  
of her body, every cell, every organ,   
every part of her soul

became  _necrotic,_    
toxic, dead.

Yet, there now, the tears did not come.    
Instead, it was her voice that betrayed her.

Instead, she grit her teeth, and seethed,   
and shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Roy would not have seen her tears.   
She could’ve cried freely, undetected,  
but she didn’t.

Heaven forbid Riza grieve in peace.   
Instead, her voice betrayed her, and Roy flinched,   
froze ice cold when she backed away,  
and used his rank.

“ _Please_ , Colonel.”

His Lieutenant, his best friend,   
Riza. She shook.  

“I am  _begging_  you. Do not make this matter.”

They didn’t speak for how many days,   
so many days, three or four,   
give or take or give.

Their reunion was not joyous.

They said nothing. They said nothing,   
because if they spoke, they would finally

_say it,_

and it would destroy everything.   
“It is  _not_  over. Do not make this matter,”   
she pleaded, “Not now.”  

_Not now._

Not now, when they had their whole world ahead of them.   
They survived, and having done so,

as cruel as it was,  
there were consequences

Many would find the fire, the blood,   
the smoke giving way to a clear blue sky.

It would be clarifying for most,   
freeing.

For the Colonel and the Lieutenant,  _after all that_ ,   
the blood and fire, and the clear blue sky.

They were trapped.

Their terrible fate, it just grew more excruciating   
by the second, more unjust, utterly unfair.

After all that.

There was nothing for them.   
The fact that there would never be a Roy,   
a Riza, only a Lieutenant and a Colonel.   
  
It stung worse. It hurt more,   
after all that.

The pain wouldn’t go away,   
unless they stopped talking  
right now.

“ _Please_.”

Roy was caught. He had no choice.   
He had to let her go

just as he had to in the tunnels,   
cold and gray and bleeding on the floor.

He had to. It was crucial.  
It was the most good for the most people.

He had to let her go,   
 _again._

Even so, he couldn’t help it, stepping to her.    
She flinched backward. He felt it.  

Roy raked fingers through his hair again,   
a pained frown, defeated, hopeless.

_After all that._

To continue speaking like this, about this,   
It would slice through further,   
cut even deeper,   
to an irreparable degree.

She understood what he was telling her,  
and he understood why she begged him to stop.

_Please don’t make it matter.  
Not now._

Roy nodded, gave in, agreed.   
as much as he could, “It doesn’t matter.”

Riza was shamefully short of breath, in panic,  
desperate for a comfort undeserved.

She tripped over her feet, her involuntarily step.  
She stepped to him, grasped his shirt.  
Roy’s hands found her waist.

He followed up her arms,   
grazed the rough bandages strangling her neck.   
He cringed. He smelled the iron, felt the blood under his toes.

_I would have done it._

For her, he would have done it.   
Even still, she was right.

He  _didn’t_  do it

for the very same reason   
she begged him not to.  
  
 _They_ were irrelevant,   
nonessential.   
  
Regardless of how they felt,   
even after all of that. 

Roy ghosted her cheeks   
and got so close.

He hovered her nose,   
and gave her peace.

Three words.

“It doesn’t matter.”

His finger swept the tear off her cheek.   
She nodded, a flurry. He rested his forehead on hers.

Three words. The  _wrong_  three words,   
but the only three words he could ever say  
to Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. 

“ **It doesn’t matter**.”  

**Author's Note:**

> uh ouch. hopefully this is realistic. they aren’t a profess their love kind of couple. it’s an understanding, I think. and, if they said it out loud, maybe it would hurt more than heal? Idk. We can chat about it. 
> 
> Comments comments, kudos kudos. Let me know what your thinking.  
> And, read Three. the thing that I'm avoiding. It's happier. promise.


End file.
